You guys know how un-focusey I am. How even the slightest sound or shiny thing in my peripheral vision can make me get up from my desk and wander around the house for at least an hour. Usually I spend the first half-a-second looking for where the shine or the noise came from, then the next 59 minutes and 59 1/2 seconds are spent doing things like practicing my karate moves, acting out memorable scenes from Sixteen Candles, singing songs for my cat (she really seems to like Meatloaf these days), and starting a minimum of 13 projects that need to be done around the house and wandering off from each of those after approximately 2 minutes. This is just how I roll. And I totally have zero problems with it.

Other people have a problem with it though.

I think that The Hub is often thisclose to trying to find an assassin to just go ahead and whack me off already. That way he can get a new wife that is way more housewifey than me. Or possibly just get a full-time live-in maid. Which I would totally let him get right now, BTW. If he wanted to. Cuz I could use one of those for sure. I’ve always been jealous of that damn Carol Brady with her awesome as hell haircut and her amazing-ass Alice. A full-time maid/nanny who wears a uniform and does EVERYTHING that needs to be done in your house. Well, except for your husband. Alice definitely wasn’t doing him. How do I know that? Cuz he was super gay. She was, however, doing Sam The Butcher. Which was -let’s face it- sooo totally going above and beyond the call of duty. I mean, screwing the neighborhood butcher just so you can save your bosses a few bucks on meat? Hell. Yes. That Alice really knew how to do her job like a champ. I have a lady who cleans my house twice a month, and I can’t even get her to move the kitchen rug and mop underneath it. So I really think that there’s about zero chance of getting her to give my lawn guys a few BJ’s so I can get free tree-pruning and lawn aeration. Whatever the hell that is.

The work ethic of the 2012 housekeeper is definitely not what it was in the 70’s. Not. Even. Close. And ya know what? That’s just sad.

I just realized that I said that The Hub wants to hire an assassin to “whack me off,” and I think I got that wording wrong. I think I meant “whack me.” Or I coulda just said “Off me.” And these are all handy phrases to know for when I go through the search history on our computer. I know that most of you lady readers of mine probably go through your men’s search history to see if they’ve been looking at porn. But if I were to go through mine, it would totally be to look for things like “how to hire someone to murder my wife and make it look like she died in a slipping-and-falling-while-dancing-for-the-cat-on-a-freshly-waxed-floor-while-wearing-her-mustache-print-knee-socks kinda accident.”

I haven’t found any evidence yet. Well, I haven’t actually looked for any evidence yet. Mainly due to the fact that one has to sit still and focus for more than half a second in order to nose through ones search history. And let’s face it you guys. That’s just never gonna happen. But I want you all to know that if you ever hear that some freak accident has befallen me, that shit needs to be investigated. I mean, chances are pretty super high that whatever the “accident” was, it was totally a real accident. Especially if it was something really weird. For example, if you hear that I died while trying to jet pack around my neighborhood with a homemade jet pack that I made by tying a leaf blower to my back, and wearing my knitted unicorn hat in lieu of a safety helmet, that shit was most-definitely on the up and up. But if you hear that I died after trying to float across the bayou down the street in a boat that I fashioned out of old flip flops and duct tape, which quickly sank after I brought a big-ass cooler of Modelo on board, at which point I got super eaten up by alligator’s….you should definitely be suspicious. Because while I would so totally build that awesome raft and take it on a kick-ass journey that rivals Huckelberry Finn’s -minus Jim and the racism- I would without-a-doubt pour all of my Modelo into one of those Camelback thing-a-ma-bobs that the hard-core bike riders wear. I would definitely NOT take a giant cooler on my flip flop raft, you guys. Cuz that would just be ridiculous.

BTW: When I googled “Whack off” to see if I had it wrong, this came up on yahoo answers, and I enjoyed these questions so much that I thought I would share:

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